


Mourning Dove

by Nebulad



Series: Run With the Hare || Hunt With the Hounds [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, gratuitous whittling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Humans can hurt people without reading their minds,” she told him. “Like… whatshisname.”</p><p>“Ah yes, the notorious whatshisname,” he teased, going back to his whittling.</p><p>“No, you must know who I mean. He was Orlesian,” she said, turning back to him. “Or maybe not. His last name was Orlesian but I can’t remember if he was.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourning Dove

“You really think he’s dangerous?” Marcela asked, fiddling with a spare chunk of wood in her hands. It kept her from bothering with what Blackwall was _actually_ working on— smaller in scale than the griffon thing he kept at, just something for _his_ hands to do but hard to keep hers off of. He made wood into animals and she’d never seen anyone do that before.

“He’s a demon with a body,” he returned, giving her a _look._

“And that makes him dangerous?”

“ _Demon.”_

“Spirit,” she correct, looking at her piece. She wondered if she could make it into something if she tried, then was all at once grateful that it was only her and Blackwall in the stables. If her brother was there he would mock her for being so sheltered that _whittling_ fascinated her, and her sister wouldn’t be nearly as impressed as she was with the skill. “Either way he hasn’t done anything but steal some plums.”

“He hasn’t done anything _yet._ Besides being… odd.” He shook his head, continuing to shape what looked like a bird. She wasn’t sure yet, which was half the appeal. _He_ barely seemed to know until he really got going.

“Well, what if he wasn’t a spirit?” she asked, hopping down from his table.

“Then he’d be human. And probably still odd.” He turned his focus to her as she wandered over a sword display. She’d tried at her sister’s skill with rapiers, but ultimately favoured her brother’s bow. She didn’t like getting hit, and she was faster when she had room to maneuver. It didn’t stop her from being _interested_ in swords, of course.

“Would you trust him more if he were just a human?” Of course all the weapons in front of her were proper broadswords and not the rapiers she’d tried to train with, so she didn’t even bother to try and lift them. If they were anywhere near Blackwall then it meant they were out of her weight class anyway.

“Perhaps. Staying out of my head would earn him points,” he said flatly.

“Humans can hurt people without reading their minds,” she told him. “Like… whatshisname.”

“Ah yes, the notorious whatshisname,” he teased, going back to his whittling.

“No, you must know who I mean. He was Orlesian,” she said, turning back to him. “Or maybe not. His last name was Orlesian but I can’t remember if he was.” It was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t place it. “I was only a teenager when it happened. He ordered his men to kill a lord for money and ended up taking out the whole family. Mother wouldn’t let us leave the estate for a month.”

Blackwall had stopped whittling rather abruptly, a splinter jerking ungracefully to the ground. She returned to her post on his table, crossing her legs and trying to place the name. It was an odd one, sort of a mishmash of Orlesian and Marches— she couldn’t even say which state. “I see your point,” he mumbled.

“I only wish I could think of the name. I’ll write mother, she’ll know,” she said dismissively. “But yes— I’d rather have some thoughts read out loud than any proper human with that sort of mindset, to kill a family for money and flee.” She remembered now: the whole Marches had been in a tizzy because the man had been from one of their states— Orlais was on one nonsensical warpath, why not another?

“That’s fair.” He started into the animal again, and she leaned down over his shoulder. “May I help you?” he asked, with less gloom and more tentative smiling. She liked that much better— maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the Orlesian. Blackwall was a Marcher and a soldier both, so there was no telling how he felt about the story.

“What is it?” she asked, tilting her head down towards the wood.

“Mourning dove, I think,” he said, holding it up. It was rounder than it’d been before, though much of the detail was still yet to be added. “Symbol of peace. You can have it when it’s finished, if you wanted.”

She finally dropped into the chair next to his that she was _meant_ to be sitting on, but just as she opened her mouth to accept, she remembered the name. Rainier, Thom Rainier from Markham who’d been too talented to stay in the Marches and run off to Orlais to join their army— that was what everyone in the Marches said anyway, more than a little stung that with all his talent he’d decided to leave.

She didn’t bother to mention the name to Blackwall. He was older than her and the story’d put him in a foul mood— no doubt he knew more about it than she did anyway. “I’d love it, if it was all right,” she said politely, and he snorted with a smile.

“You’re too kind. Only a trinket to keep the hands busy.” He wasn’t looking at her but she swore that somewhere under that beard he’d reddened.

“You’re very talented,” she protested, and he shook his head.

“Talent is evidently wasted on me, my lady, but I thank you regardless,” he said cryptically. She decided not to linger on it— getting Blackwall the talk about himself was like getting blood from stones— and focus more appropriately on how he’d called her _lady_ again. It was so much nicer when it was a compliment and not an obligation.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm... really working on trying to work Thom more... peaceably into the plot, yk? Like I like his whole angle but I can't get over that... like before he admits to being Thom Rainier, you don't know who that is. And like, he's so blatantly lying because the instant you get to Skyhold you can find a letter penned by Blackwall that says he can't get into Ferelden because they closed the border on Orlais, which contradicts his story about where he was during the Fifth Blight. Like the truth is one trip to see Leliana away, but there's no build up to Thom. So... there, I guess. Marcela Trevelyan was confined to the estate for a month because her mother believed that either the Orlesians were going to retaliate, or more mad Captains were going to sic squadrons on passing carriages. [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) and it's got stuff and things. I feel like I should mention it's a tumblr blog like it's not a weird link or nothing. Just Tumblr.
> 
> Also I'm gunna have to rename this series, probably.


End file.
